The Setting of the Sun
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Two ships sailing in different directions. Written for the MFU Scrapbook 2015 Valentine's Day Challenge


Could I please have a gen/het/gen_mature story based around Illya? I am drawn towards angst and hurt/comfort, so if anyone fancies taking on the dark side of romance, then this prompt is for you. (Jantojones)

_When the sun has set, no candle can replace it._

_George R.R. Martin_

I can hear them talking as he approaches. I can hear them whispering as he leave. Just once I'd like to turn and yell at them, but what would I say if he turned back to me? He's big enough to fight his own battles.

I know the names they have attached to him over the years, but they don't have a clue how wrong they are. Of course, some would argue that there is nothing worse than being in love with a Section Two agent. Some days I would agree with them.

In my position as a nurse, I get to interact with agents in a way that many others don't. Believe me, it's not all sponge baths and comforting hand holding. There is a lot of not so nice stuff in between. Catheters, nasogastric tubes, bedpans, vomit basins, those sort of things are what so many people choose to overlook when telling me how lucky I am to be a RN.

I sat at the front desk and massaged my temples. There was an agent in Room Three whose burn dressing needed changing and the eschar debrided. He'd need more morphine for that. There was another agent in Room Four whose bowels had let go explosively during the night and contaminated his leg cast. It would need to be removed and his leg re-plastered. Then there was Mr. Kuryakin in Seven. Out of the three, his injuries were probably the least life threatening but the most concerning, for, you see, out of the three, it was Mr. Kuryakin whom I loved and the one everyone whispered about.

"You okay?" My co-worker, Maureen, was an even-tempered, petite brunette with a powerhouse of a punch. I'd seen her use it a few times and stood in awe of her. Even the agents treated her with respect.

"Headache."

She looked at the charts and nodded. "I see what you mean. If you want, I can take Four."

"You don't mind?"

"I got three kids. I have a Masters in Poop." She shot a fast glance over to Lilia who was 'busy' chatting up one of our doctors. It didn't matter that he was married and older than he by two decades. She was a woman in search of a father for her unborn children and anything with a penis would do just fine. Strangely enough, she steered clear of the Section Two Agents. "And I think Three is perfect for Lilia. It would give her something else to concentrate on besides her biological clock."

"I totally agree." Wearily, I stood up, never letting on how relieved I was with my assignment. "I guess that leaves me…"

"The Ice Prince. Good luck."

I nodded as if I was dreading the task. Most of the nurses drew straws to avoid Mr. Kuryakin, especially if he had decided it was time for him to be released. I didn't mind his stubbornness and, at times, petulant behavior. He was an agent, a good one, and it was my job to keep him well enough to perform his job.

The lights were dim in the room and my patient looked asleep. There was really no way of knowing for certain – these guys were masters of playing possum. I looked at his chart and winced at the list of injuries. THRUSH didn't play nice this time, but there was nothing that wouldn't heal give the opportunity. The fact that Mr. Kuryakin's devilish partner, Mr. Solo, wasn't there, told me that my patient was on the mend. Section Two agents are fiercely loyal to each other and it's nearly impossible to treat one without tripping over the other.

The white hospital gown made him look so young and frail, although I knew both were an illusion. One of his hands rested on top of the blanket and I touched it. It paid to move slowly with agents. When I wasn't attacked, I slipped my hand over his and rested it there for a moment. If cornered, I'd protest that it was merely to reassure the agent and avoid a right cross. In truth, I cherished these moments the way you would celebrate caressing a tiger. Being this close to danger was exciting, so was the feel of his skin, soft and warm, beneath mine. A fire stirred deep in me and for a second, I wondered what it would be like to feel his hand on my breasts or caressing my stomach or thighs just before…

I startled myself out of the daydream, my cheeks flaring red. Flipping his hand over, I paused to admire its obvious strength and study the thick callouses. Here was a man who made his living with both his hands and his head. Here was a man who cared so much for the people he protected that he was willing to give up his life for them. And people said he has ice for a heart. How could someone with such passion be dead to love, I ask you that. The pulse, when I finally went looking for it, was strong and steady.

"Am I alive?"

I didn't jump at his voice. I knew he'd be awake by this point. I smiled and he blinked painfully at me. "So rumors would have it." I released his wrist and returned his hand to the blanket, patting the back of it in a, what I hoped, was a motherly fashion. We are taught from Day One not become emotionally involved with our patients. "How are you feeling or is that a really stupid question?"

"Better than yesterday." He moved with a grunt and a wince. "But I don't think I'm going anywhere today." I helped him sit up. I plumped his pillows and helped him settle back against them.

"You think right." I looked over at his nightstand, devoid of anything except a water glass, a basin, and a box of tissues. Last month Mr. Solo was our guest and his room looked like a flower shop. If Mr. Kuryakin noticed, he said nothing. I knew better than to offer to turn on the TV. Rearranging his sheet and blanket gave me a chance to make a discreet check of his catheter bag as I did. His urinary output was good and clear of blood, always a good sign. "Can I get you anything to read?"

He smiled at that. "I have a few magazines on my desk. I wouldn't mind having a chance to peruse those. However…" I held out his glasses, ugly black-rimmed thing and he grinned. My libido did a backflip beneath the glow of his expression. "My glasses. Thank you."

"All in a day's work. I'll see about your magazines. Are you swallowing your pain medication?" His IV had been discontinued last night, his skin bruised from the needle. Section Two agents hated when their control was stripped from them, but even they occasionally concede the benefits. Mr. Kuryakin was no different. He nodded wearily and I knew I didn't have to go on an Easter egg hunt to find them. He'd been pretty creative in the past. That would come soon enough. "Just another day or so and then we'll see how you are doing, okay?"

"Okay." His voice was getting thick and I knew he was fading back into sleep.

"You rest and I will check on you in a little while. Your call button is by your right hand if you need me. " He would never know how much I needed him.

I turned to go and he caught my fingers, although how he could move that fast was beyond me. "Nellie?" His eyes were mere slits now.

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin?" One of our hands was trembling

"Illya."

"Yes, Illya?" Up until now, I'd only called him Illya when I was coming down from a masturbatory high.

"I love you."

I laughed a little as tears blurred my vision. It was the drugs talking now. I kissed his forehead. "I love you, too, Agent." And he was asleep. In my heart, I added, _If only you did._ I would give up my career, my future, my everything for just one night in his arms. Life just isn't fair.

I know what they said about her – single-minded, cool, but caring. She had a job to do and that was what her life focused upon. She nurtured and healed where I destroyed. She comforted and spoke softly when I wreaked havoc and shouted. We were total opposites, no common ground at all. She had no idea how lonely my world was and how much I'd love to change it for just a moment, if only she was willing.

My days are filled with excitement, danger, and, quite often, pain. They race by, one on the heels of the other. Often I could not tell you the month, let alone the day of the week. Those are mere labels and not important to me. My nights, however, stretch on forever, dark and cold.

Back home, we would seek any available pair of arms, male or female, to drive away the loneliness. It was accepted. It was normal. You did what you had to make it through the night and to the next day.

Here in America, they are funny about such things, but that doesn't stop anything. It just makes people more cautious with their choice of partners. I watch my partner, Napoleon, bounce from one woman to the next and I know what he's doing. He's fighting the nights as much as I am. And I know he's still just as alone as I am in the end.

One thing about bed rest is that it gives you time to think without worrying about being shot or kidnapped. It took a while before UNCLE saw the writing on the wall and created its own medical wing. Now we were hidden in the belly of a chrome and steel mountain, as safe and protected as we would likely to ever know. Time to heal and to think.

I was dozing, thanks mostly to the pain medication, my brain tripping from one topic to the next without any rhyme or reason. That was when I felt the touch to the back of my hand. The first instinct was to react and move out of harm's way, but I was just awake enough to know where I was and whose feathery touch traveled across my skin.

Nellie, the Iron Maiden the rest of the Section Two agents called her, but I knew better. She didn't put up with any nonsense and I could respect her for that. Even Napoleon knew enough to behave when she came into the room. She was a force to be reckoned with, but I could see the passion in her eyes. She truly loved her job and anyone she cared for.

For a long time, she just stood there, her hand resting on mine. I drew strength from her touch, knowing she had the ability to take away my pain and not see me weak because of it. When I could no longer bear to be silent, I asked, "Am I alive?" and opened my eyes.

Even though the room wasn't bright, her radiant smile nearly blinded me.

"So rumors would have it." There was such compassion and tenderness in her eyes that it made me want to dive into them and live a lifetime of just the two of us. It was a pointless thought. "How are you feeling or is that a really stupid question?"

It wasn't stupid or unpredicted. "Better than yesterday." I tried to sit up and masked the wave of pain that shot through me. Of course, she noticed. She'd been trained to. "But I don't think I'm going anywhere today." I'd given up trying to pretend I was anything I wasn't in front of her. She knew me too well for that. She helped me sit up and grabbed the opportunity to plump the woefully thin pillows. Nellie was a pillow plumber, to be sure.

She did other things that I didn't think too much about. At this point it was easier to run on automatic. However, something she saw made her sad. I don't know what. "You think right. Can I get you anything to read?"

Music to my ears. "I have a few magazines on my desk. I wouldn't mind having a chance to peruse those. However…" I knew I didn't have my glasses. They wanted me to rest and took them. Now Nellie was holding them out to me and I smiled. "My glasses. Thank you."

"All in a day's work. I'll see about your magazines. Are you swallowing your pain medication?" My reputation preceded me, but I wasn't an idiot. It didn't mean I had to be happy about it either and just nodded. "Just another day or so and then we'll see how you are doing, okay?"

It was getting hard to keep my eyes open, even though I desperately wanted to. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how she made me feel, but my body was having none of it. "Okay."

"You rest and I will check on you in a little while. Your call button is by your right hand if you need me."

_Only all my life,_ I thought. I caught her hand, well, fingers, just as she was getting ready to leave. Suddenly I didn't want to be alone. I wanted her to stay, but just keeping my eyes open was a struggle worthy of Sisyphus. "Nellie?" I managed to get out.

"Yes, Mr. Kuryakin?"

One of our hands was trembling, mine, I think. "Illya."

"Yes, Illya?" That seemed to almost overwhelm her.

"I love you."

Her eyes filled with tears, of pity I am assuming. How many other agents had professed love to her? She had everything, a wonderful career, a family and a future. I could off her nothing but today.

"I love you, too, Agent."

I lost my fight against sleep then and slipped off. Perhaps when I woke, I'd try again. Or perhaps I would just tuck my feelings back away and spare her the drama. It would be more kind and good advice. I wonder if I will take heed of either.


End file.
